


48 Hours

by elfin



Series: 24/7 [2]
Category: Miami Vice
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfin/pseuds/elfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rico and Sonny take an easy surveillance job</p>
            </blockquote>





	48 Hours

**Author's Note:**

> written in 2007

Rico:

Know those times when you wake up and it's dark and you've no idea what time it is, what day is it, where or who you even are?

It's a six-hour drive from Orlando to Miami, give or take. In a Ferrari Testarossa driven by a caffeine-wired vice cop, it's more like four. Maybe three. I remembered arriving at the boat and crashing fully clothed on the bed, that's it. Didn't remember Sonny even being there but he was there when I woke up, lying on his back still in his shirt and pants, snoring softly; dead to the world. When I opened my eyes I looked around for an alarm clock, wanting to know the time, and couldn't find it. I guessed Elvis had had it while we'd been in Orlando. Fair swap - I had his Dad.

For a couple of seconds I just watched Sonny sleep, wanting just to touch, unsure if I was welcome, how what we'd done in at Daniel Fagan's place would translate out here in the real world; what it would translate into. One thing for sure, Orlando would always be a place of fantasies for me. Disney World. Just not the Disney old Walt had in mind.

I got up, shifted down the bed as quietly as possible - Sonny's a light sleeper, even if he is able to fall sleep absolutely anywhere - but he didn't even twitch. I dropped one foot to the floor in silence and turned to look at him, to check I hadn't disturbed him. Orlando wasn't the first night we'd spent together. Of course, there have been long nights of surveillance, folded into Sonny's Ferrari, one of us catching some Zs while the other one keeps watch. I hate nights like that. I need company - crave it - someone to talk to, even if we talk about nothing deeper than the decrease in the number of M&Ms in the average packet (one of Sonny's weirdest gripes). He doesn't mind sitting alone for hours on end. He fishes; he's used to it. I think there's some kinda internal monologue going on in his head that keeps him amused. Probably logging the contents of M&M packets, or constructing a letter of complaint to Mars.

Scratch that. Sonny isn't a 'letter of complaint' kinda guy. I saw a film once - 'Dogma' - not all the way through (can't remember when I last saw a movie all the way through…) but this one great scene where the two young guys go into the offices of a television company and blow each executive away in turn after listing a multitude of their sins. That's more Sonny's style - shoot first, ask questions later. Except for the times he decides to ask questions first, and then the other guy better damn well have an answer.

But like I said, those nights in the Ferrari, they don't count. We've slept together here before - and I mean slept together in the non-biblical sense of the word. Actual sleeping did take place. We tend to crash on the boat when we're undercover; waiting for a phone call, a visitor, or back from a party or a meet so late that it's early. We'll crash out and wake up much like I just had done, but more usually shirtless, or when it's stupidly hot, just in our shorts. No big deal; we're comfortable together, always have been. I didn't know what would change there either. Sleepin' in the same bed as the gorgeous southerner wasn't going to be as innocent or free of connotation and temptation once I knew what I'm missing.

Easy to think we'd complicated everything, but the truth was nothin's ever been uncomplicated between us. The most memorable night we spent together was the night he climbed out of madness after the Lauderdale/Burnett affair. Yeah, we've been out of town before, haven't we, Partner of mine? Back then it wasn't a dream, it was a nightmare. And when he got back, memory restored by a well-placed car bomb and a sidewalk curb, his nightmare got much, much worse. He allegedly told his shrink I was scared of him. He was right. I was terrified of him, despite him saving my life at what I would call the very last moment. But he told her somethin' else too, that he loved me. And it gave me something to work with, so that by the time we were pullin' him out of yet more trouble in the dusty town he'd for some reason chosen for his mandatory vacation, I was close to forgiving him, closer still to trusting him again. When he finally got back into town, bike-sore and with a mane of blond hair Oribe Canales would have given his right arm to style, he called me and it was with relief that I drove over.

We spent hours sitting up on deck that night, sharing a couple of beers and a bottle of Jack Daniels, talking about some really heavy stuff until the sun peered over the horizon and we crawled, exhausted, into his bed, right here. We were drunk, emotionally wrung out, and it seemed the most natural thing to curl up against his back, wrap my arms around him and fall asleep with my face against that thick, messy hair. Course, I woke up empty-armed. But we were okay, and that was what mattered. It was all that mattered.

I reached out, fingers hovering over Sonny's bare foot where it was hanging off the end of the high berth. But I didn't touch. Instead I turned and padded through the boat in silence and went up on deck as quietly as I could. Elvis was sleeping, at least I think he was sleeping, making a soft sound not unlike Sonny below. No sign of sunrise but the city was quiet. I guessed three, maybe half-three in the A.M. Then I checked my watch, like I just remembered I was wearing one: three twenty seven. I love this time. New York's alive all hours of the night and day. Between three and five, Miami sleeps. Sonny and I have driven through the city in the quiet hours, just drivin', contributing to the hole in the ozone layer, not even talkin', just… being. And people say he isn't a spiritual guy.

More than being in the car at this time, I love being on Sonny's undercover address, the boat; the St. Vitus Dance. I love the city from the marina, that distance between me and it, the water behind me, high rises in front. Safety and freedom. It's just that most of the time I don't know which one's which.

One thing for sure, I came to Miami looking for revenge and found something so incredible, so powerfully intense, the best thing to ever happen to me and I'm not talking about a job with southern law enforcement. James 'Sonny' Crockett, without whom I can't imagine working, can't imagine living, can't imagine breathing. I had it bad, I have to admit, real bad. And this wasn't just some love affair with some woman, this was finding the other half of my soul and finding it in my partner; the man I trusted with my life, the man who - let's face it - was my life.

Lying back on the top of the boat, I crossed my arms behind my head and stared up at the dark sky. I couldn't remember the last time I saw the stars. Elvis snoring somewhere beside me wasn't quite as attractive as his Dad doing the same but I didn't want Sonny to wake up with me next to him, not that morning. Don't ask me why - paranoia working overtime. But Sonny's a volatile creature, more so even than his dopey pet 'gator, and I had no idea how he was going to react when he woke to a new day in the real world and remembered what we did in Orlando.

 

Sonny:

Not a huge surprise Rico wasn't with me when I woke up; I'd have laid bets on him thinkin' I'd freak out if I opened my eyes and saw him there. Not like it was the first time we'd have woken up together, but we hadn't spent the night grabbin' each other's dicks before. When we'd been rudely awoken at Fagan's place by Orlando Homicide's noisy early-morning raid, we’d barely had chance to look one another in the eye. It had taken longer than we'd imagined to get out of Orlando. Rico had suggested stopping by Orlando PD, making sure they were getting a decent deal and not getting the crap beat out of them by the same bigots who were on the raid.

Turned out they were fine, they'd already posted bail by the time we turned up. But then the cops wanted to talk to us, and it was dark again by the time Marty sprang us and we finally got on the road back home. We didn't talk on the drive back, but it wasn't a difficult silence, wasn't awkward, just we were both exhausted. We know when to shut up, Rico and I; it's a special thing, part of the reason I love him as much as I do. We know each other, better than we've ever known friends or lovers. I've got family - Billy, and Jake - Rico had Rafael but he doesn't take about him much: I never knew anyone like I know my partner. Never felt the same way about anyone either. Talk about intense, Rico and I could give Oprah a run for her money any day of the week. And right then my intense, paranoid partner could have been anywhere, worryin' about us, wonderin'…. I heard a sound above me. 

Okay, so he hadn't gone too far.

 

"You okay, Rico?"

His head snapped around, hand hovering above Elvis's snout. I could see those druggy reptilian eyes following his every move, some part of that alligator brain deciding that if food wasn't forthcoming, Rico would do in place of the usual diet of fish. Reaching down, I caught my partner's wrist and lifted it away from those unbelievably quick jaws, at the same time leaning in so my mouth was close to his ear when I spoke.

"If anyone's gonna be eatin' you, Rico, it's gonna be me."

I swear I've never seen my dark man blush such a deep scarlet. He was sat atop the boat so I dropped to a graceful crouch, kinda pleased when my knee let me without so much as a twinge, and looked into Rico's beautiful emerald eyes. The way he looked at me made my heart swell, and that wasn't the only thing. God, I loved him. "You okay, Partner?"

"I dunno, Sonny. Am I?"

Just like him to take his lead from me, to make sure I'm okay with it, no matter how much he wanted it. And he definitely wanted it, wanted me. I'd have been insulted if he hadn't. But I was touched, thought about playin' with him for all of, oh, a micro-second or so, dismissed the idea, leaned forward with a smile on my face and let him come the last couple of inches. He kisses like he does everything else, with incredible grace and generous passion, and I felt like a kid in a candy store - all that was mine now; I think it had been mine for longer than I knew. I hadn't seen it before, and when I had seen it maybe I wasn't ready to acknowledge it. More than ready now, ready to accept his feelin's for me, mine for him, and screw the rest of the world. I deserved to be loved, didn't I? Deserved to love someone who knew me for who I really was, who saw me at my best and my worst and still wanted to crawl into bed with me. 

"Come back to bed," I murmured, lips still touching his, still breathin' the same air.

"You sure, Sonny?"

I knew what he was askin'; our partnership's the best thing either of us have ever had, nothin' would be worth that sacrifice. "Just askin' you to come back to bed, Rico."

He smiled then, and I knew it was the right answer. We stripped off in the darkness of the cabin and lay side by side in our shorts, like we've done a hundred times before. Only this time I found Rico's hand on the messy sheets and threaded my fingers through his. I anchored him there, so that when we woke, my head was rested against his shoulder and his other hand had strayed to my stomach.

#

Castillo:

A long time ago, while sitting at Sonny's favourite coffee stop - the one run by the Latino with a record for drug smuggling and a reputation for brewing the best Espressos in town - I drew the conclusion that Sonny Crockett is surrounded by eggshells and the only person alive who's able to walk over them without breaking any is Ricardo Tubbs.

They exist in their own world; looking out on the rest of us, interacting with us, caring about us, but their focus is one another. Women come and go, sometimes of their own accord, sometimes at the cruel whim of others, but Sonny and Rico, they remain constant. Anyone can see it if they look. There are signs, hidden in plain sight. In diamond stud in Rico's ear was a birthday gift; it's real, a diamond to last a lifetime. Sonny's Rolex watch isn't department owned; there's an inscription on the back only a couple of people have read.

They're together 24/7, they communicate without words, finish each other's sentences, speak for one another. When one goes over the edge, the other stays back, maintaining the balance. Sometimes I try to imagine what Sonny was like before Rico arrived in Miami but I can't. Crockett and Tubbs, Burnett and Cooper - each pairing is a single entity, two people thinking the same thoughts, working together in such exact synchronicity it's beautiful to watch. And when they fight, it's like a small nuclear war. Pointless to run for cover, might as well stick it out.

The double doors into the main OCB office opened that morning and they stepped through, laughing about something the rest of us wouldn't be let in on; Stan and Gina and Trudy and myself all on the periphery until they chose to acknowledge us. That's maybe an exaggeration. But the way they are is the reason they're the best duo in South Florida, the reason they're still alive.

"Morning, girls!" Sonny was in a good mood and it's a relief after what went down in Orlando. Of course I know now how they pulled pulled off what I asked them to at Daniel Fagan's weekend party; back then I didn't want to know. They hadn't been happy when Orlando Homicide got impatient and crashed the party, so apparently their covers had been sound. Watching them I knew how the natural lack of personal space between them could have been misconstrued. They touch each other all the time, most of the time I don't think they know they're doing it.

"Okay, whose idea of a joke is this?" Rico's voice carried through the glass that partitions my office from the squad room. He was standing at his desk, holding up the soft gay porn calendar Gina and Trudy had brought in two days ago. I heard the giggles but my eyes were on Sonny through the slats in the blinds; of all the expressions that could have been on that undeniably handsome face, faint amusement wasn't the one I would have expected.

"What's the matter, Rico?" Gina's brevity coming to the fore. "Seen enough in Orlando?"

I shifted my gaze to glance at Tubbs for a moment and saw something that did surprise me; a flash of real anger, a rare sight on those classical features. Then Sonny was leaning over the two adjoining desks, hand on his partner's arm, and whatever he said washed away the hostility, and a moment later Rico was laughing with the rest of them. "Hey, say what you like about Daniel Fagan, the man knows how to throw a party."

Sonny straightened, listening to Tubbs recount a tale of Disney World and I couldn't help wondering what the shared smiles and private glances were all about, what was being left out of the story. What had they done to keep their covers in amongst a crowd of gay men and women? I'd given them the assignment, they hadn't asked for it, definitely hadn't liked the idea of it, but they seemed to have enjoyed themselves. How far had they gone? I'd seen them walk away from scenes with an arm around each other's waist or shoulders, had that been enough to convince Fagan and his crowd that they were a couple?

Sonny turned, looked straight at me through the wide gaps in the blind and the fingerprint-stained glass, and I wondered if he somehow knew I was thinking about them.

 

Sonny:

We followed the Lieutenant into the briefing room, Rico and I dropping into seats next to one another, arms crossed on the table, elbows touching. It wasn't anything new, the need for physical connection, it was how we'd always played it, how we stayed alive in times of reduced odds of us ever taking another breath. In a single touch - shoulder against shoulder, a hand on an arm - it's possible to feel his next move, for him to know mine, and it allows us to react as one without a word passing between us. Some people call it spooky, a sixth sense for one another. Maybe we have that too; it certainly feels like it sometimes.

"Orlando Homicide's got nothing on Mike Swan's murder, nothing on Fagan and his boyfriend. We're no longer involved. Gina & Trudy, you're on Lance. Swietek, Fawks, stay with the Mendoza lead. Crockett, Tubbs, you're on surveillance." He slid a file across the table in our direction, Rico reached out and pulled it towards us, opening it. "Shipment due into Plantation Key within the next forty-eight hours. Package was bound for New York but rumours are a player in Miami made a better offer. Deal's due to go down there."

I saw the expression on Rico's face and put it into words. "I know we're good, Marty, but we're not that good."

Castillo gave me one of his patented stares. "It's the middle of a supply chain. NY Vice want to know who the buyer is, we want a lead on the supplier. Take the boat, lay low, take photos. We want intelligence not a takedown."

I watched my partner open his mouth to protest, then I swear I saw the idea of forty-eight hours on the boat surrounded by wildlife and privacy solidify in his mind at the same time as it did in mine, and he closed it again, held up his hands. "Hey, if that's what it takes."

#

Rico:

We left the marina around lunchtime, after I'd been back to my place to collect some clothes. I kept a minimal wardrobe at the boat anyway, along with toiletries and a couple of books. I spend a lot of time there, my second home, and Sonny doesn't mind. I think he likes it, think he likes seeing more than one toothbrush in the glass in front of his shaving mirror. My green one next to the pink toothbrush he picked up at Palmo's place, I have no idea why he still has it, he just hangs on to it - lucky charm or somethin' - like he's convinced it was luck that got us out of Palmo's kangaroo court still breathing.

Over the years, Sonny's taught me to sail. I'm not bad with the ropes and the controls, although he still loses me with the jargon. He's a patient teacher, possibly just with me, possibly with the people he cares about. I watched him teaching Billy to drive the Ferrari when we went up to Atlanta last year - didn't matter how many mistakes his son made, Sonny let him learn from them. Mind you, he loves his son. I used to think Billy was the only person in the world he did love, but after Orlando I was startin' to think I might have been wrong.

We didn't say much to each other as we slipped through the water out of the marina at Bal Harbour and turned South, heading into the shipping lanes. Once we were away I took a hold of the steering line and Sonny went below, fetched food for Elvis and grabbed us a couple of beers. When he came back up he threw a frozen perch at his pet, sat opposite me, put the ice-cold bottle in my hand and for a second his fingers tapped mine.

"Are we okay, Rico? I mean… really okay?" There was this intense expression in his eyes, desperate almost, like the worry had been eatin' away at him since we got back. If we didn't talk about it that worry would do more damage than us sleepin' together ever would have. I shifted the bottle to my other hand, threaded my fingers through his, pressing cold palm to cold palm.

"We're good, Sonny. Better than good. I mean, we were great, weren't we?"

He rubbed my thumb, nodded, with this wonderful, almost bashful smile on his face. Sonny - bashful - yeah, right. "We were fantastic, Partner. As always." I love this guy. And I know him better than I know myself. I waited for the 'but'. "But Disney's a fantasy land of dreams, my friend, and now we're back in the real world."

"And the real world doesn't allow for… fantasies and dreams?"

"Hey, man, listen… you know I dated Gina on and off years ago and you know how that worked out. Business and pleasure… never works. You know it as well as I do." That I did; Valerie was a New York detective; I was head over heals in love with her for years and it turned out very, very badly. I knew what I was hearing - Sonny was blowing me off. He was still holdin' my hand though, still makin' love to my thumb like if he let go he might not have the right to touch me like that again. I definitely didn't like that idea.

"You know… that mix might have gone bad in the past for both of us, Partner. But Valerie wasn't you, and Gina, she isn't me. You and I already had that weird, special connection, Sonny, long before Orlando. We can do this, we can have this… extra stuff if we want it."

"Ah, Rico…." He was shakin' his head; apparently if I wanted him, I was gonna have to fight for him. "Save from Billy, man, you are the best, most important thing in my entire life." How I was ever going to get my inflated ego through that small hatch down into the boat I had no idea. "No dream's worth losing you."

"You ain't gonna lose me, Sonny." Cut through the macho protective bullshit, that armour he builds around himself and Crockett's a sensitive guy. He's done a lot of hurtin' in his life, more than someone Ricardo Tubbs loves should ever have to feel. "You don't want anythin' more with me, Sonny, that's cool. My ego's large enough - I can take the knock-back."

"You don't want this… extra curricular stuff between us?"

"I didn't say that. No way I can put my feelin's for you into words; they're everythin', so much, man, I don't know where to start. So yeah, I want it. I look at you and I want you; heart, mind and soul. But more than that, your friendship, our partnership is the reason I get up in the mornings, my reason for breathin'. So it's your decision." Romantic speeches are my absolute forte; declarations of love. Never before I've meant it from the heart. 

He wasn't lookin' at me though, was studying our joined hands. "I'm not great at commitment, Rico."

"Who's askin' for commitment, Sonny? You're my partner - I got just about all the commitment I can take from you." I grinned, caught his wry smile and let him know I half-meant it. "This is just us."

The wind chose that opportune moment to change direction, to pick up strength, and Sonny had to make a rapid course correction. I moved out of his way, tipped my beer down my throat as I watched him work with the boat. He'd been given the St Vitus Dance as an undercover address, he'd taught himself to sail it, to handle it and then he'd taught me. I love to watch him like this; relaxed, those muscles rippling under all the flawless tanned skin, white linen pants pulled tight over his taut ass. No, I haven't spent the last seven years eyin' him up like this; only since I got my hands all over him, got his mouth all over me. I know what I'm missin', what I might be missin' on a regular basis if I couldn't convince him.

With our tub sailing in the right direction again, I sat back down where he'd been before he'd taken over the reins. Elvis had hauled himself around to the front of the boat was taking up most of the bow, his pink blanket chomped in his jaws. He rarely let it out of his sight nowadays after a sniper had tried for Sonny's head one evening and put a hole through it. It was one threat too many and when it wasn't held tight in his jaw it was safe and secure underneath him.

I didn't bring up the subject of our stalled conversation, asked what time we were likely to be in position, if there was anything I could do to help; kept it functional and easy going. The camera film was in the small fridge in the galley, the surveillance equipment was mostly set up. Not much to do but moor up somewhere with a good view of the co-ordinates we'd been given and wait. Playin' it cool was okay for now, but I wanted to be making the best use of our waiting time and that kinda involved Sonny seeing my point of view.

Not once, not then, did it occur to me that Castillo was getting us out of the way.

 

Sonny:

I love Rico. That line about me being his partner and that being all the commitment he could handle from me? Absolute crap. If I'd asked him for monogamy he would have pledged himself to me right then and there and it wouldn't just have been to get me back into bed. What did I ever do to deserve the guy? I must have been a saint in a previous life. Or a priest. Someone damn good.

Weird how fate works. Seven years ago he turned up to a deal with a bent DEA agent at his side, I turned up to the same deal with a two-bit middleman and some over-zealous back-up, and in the ensuing chaos he nicked my speedboat and I had to chase him down in not-the-fastest car I've ever driven. We started off by fighting and ended up closer than any two people I've ever known. My life's fallen apart more times than I can count but Rico's remained constant, going through his own crisis', neatly side-stepping his own breakdown; my best friend, my partner. Even at our worst he's always remained between me and harm. I owe him my life, my presence in the passenger seat of the Caddy. 

And that loyalty, that thing which is way beyond friendship, that's what I'm scared to death of jeopardising with this other thing. I was the one misbehaving in Orlando. I was the one pushing it further and further. I was the one who watched him in the shower, who sat on his lap at the nightclub, who had my hands all over him during the party. This morning I'd kissed him, asked him back to bed. No way I could cut and run now, my partner deserved much, much more than that; he deserved the truth, an honest answer.

Reaching across the short space between us I took the neck of his beer bottle between my fingers and pulled it gently from his loose grip. He watched me, eyes locked first with my eyes as I raised the top to my lips, then his gaze dropped to my mouth as I tipped the bottle back. I didn't swallow, but leaned forward with a mouthful of cool beer and kissed him, sharing it. I felt him hum, felt the vibrations of it, felt him swallow before he laid his tongue over mine and I could taste him under the weak alcohol.

Restlessly I turned my head, my mouth working against his, pushing the beer bottle back into his hand, covering his fingers with my palm, feeling his warmth. So many times, so many bad times, I've looked over at him and yearned to just be in his arms, to have him hold me. It was enough then to touch him and to know he'd hold me when I needed him to, to know I had the right to ask. Maybe I'd always had the right. I felt the wind pick up again, felt the hair at the back of my head blown around by it, and reluctantly pulled back from my partner's exceptional mouth.

 

We made it to Plantation Key in a couple of hours. Nothin' was happen' so either we were early or we'd missed all the fun. We anchored the boat in an outlet between two long reed beds and set up; focusing a couple of movement sensors out from the deck of the boat across the water in a couple of directions, putting film in the cameras, the basics so that we'd be ready for the action. We worked like we always worked - in sync, each backing up the other even in these mundane tasks. And when we finished we stood in the galley and Rico took my hand, pulled me into his arms and kissed me like I was the only thing he'd ever wanted.

Our clothes were shed over the floor and when he reached the cabin we were bare, skin against skin, me almost baby smooth, him peppered with tight dark curls which take some gettin' used to for a guys who's used to sleepin' with gals. But he took my mind off it quickly enough, fingers workin' over my hips, angling me to meet him as we both got hard, making me feel the reality of it - of the two of us - before he hopped up onto the big bed and took me with him.

He drew his hand lazily down my arm, making love to me with a rhythm only he could hear. He pushed his fingers between mine, traced the muscles in my legs with his toes, covered my whole body with his own, kissing every inch of me. I fought his domination of me, bit his shoulder, ravished his mouth, rolled his dark nipples between my fingertips until he was begging me to do something else, something more.

It would be great to say we lasted for hours, but we were like desperate, horny teenagers, tangling our legs to get our dicks closer, to get more friction as we worked out what to do and how to do it, and when that didn't work we untangled from each other and I reached for his dick as he reached for mine. God, it was good; his grip was perfect, the pressure and the speed of it. I don't know what the hell I was doin', but by the sounds he was making I think it was just as good for him.

I don't remember much afterwards; an explosive orgasm, heat, and a blackness that swallowed me. When I woke up, it was to the sound of the motion detectors going off.

#

Castillo:

I stared through the narrow rectangle of transparent plastic at the two white cogs going round and round slowly as the tape played through the recorder's tinny microphone.

A man's voice, sounding like he was high on coke - "There were these two hot guys there, man; a gorgeous blond white guy with some sexy-as-hell black dude. They were all over each other all weekend, hanging out with Daniel and Cal." 

A pause, then Strohe's voice, the glee barely masked - "A white man and a black man? Do you know their names?"

"Nah. I think one of them might have been called Richard. I was never introduced, Fagan's parties are huge, man. But on Saturday night, at the cocktail party you people crashed, the black dude laid one on the white guy and the party stopped just for a moment. Loads o'couples vanished for half an hour, if you see what I mean."

"I don't." That sickening tone. "Spell it out for me."

"They were hot, man! Like I said! Most of us would have paid to watch them go at it. I'd bet more than half of us have imagined them doin' it since."

"And they kissed, at the party." Objection, your Honour.

"Oh, yeah. Hottest thing I've ever seen by far and away. We're hoping the white guy will do the centrefold. At least then we get one of them naked, if you get my drift."

Strohe's long fingers snaked into view as he reached over to stop the tape. I looked straight at him, face neutral, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing what I wasn't sure myself would be my true reaction. I said nothing, waited for him to talk, which he did in that tone I expect slime to drip from.

"Sound like anyone we know?"

"If he is talking about Detectives Crockett and Tubbs, they were undercover, you know as well as anyone, in those circumstances you do what you have to do to survive."

"In that highly dangerous world of rollercoaster rides at Disney World and nightclubs on Pleasure Island."

"They were on an undercover assignment. Their lives counted on them being convincing."

This little investigation, hot off the mark and being run by IAD's runt, Detective Strohe, was the reason I'd sent Crockett and Tubbs on a wild goose chase into the Keys. Strohe is Crockett's nemesis; ironic it should be someone who supposedly is on the same side. But I know Sonny would rather face off a ring of gun-toting mercenaries than spend a single second in his company. I've seen this man reduce my senior detective to tears and hated him for it. And if someone hurts Sonny, Rico's protective streak - one easily as wide as the Miami River - kicks in. There was one afternoon, during an IAD interview, when I thought he was going to reach over and strangle Strohe for upsetting his partner. And watching through the two-way mirror, I thought I might let him.

Ricardo Tubbs isn't the only one to love Sonny Crockett, although having heard the tape I was wondering if we didn't love the man in two very different ways. But could I honestly say the fantasy hadn't crossed my mind a time or two? Could I truthfully claim that I wasn't drawn to him? Not physically, but to his passion, to his drive, to his fierce loyalty and unswerving belief in the people he works with and the people he cares about. Not physically. But there was that afternoon, not too long ago, when the air con broke and they were getting ready to go to a meet, Tubbs getting wired up in the briefing room, the black briefcase filled with half a mil cash open on the table, Sonny fixing his gun in his ankle holster. Everyone was hot. And there was a moment when a bead of sweat ran from the base of Sonny's neck over the hollow of his throat, down over his breastbone into the V-neck of his T-shirt. I couldn't take my eyes off it, followed its path, think I even licked my lips, and when I glanced up Rico was staring at that very same sight.

Strohe was still talking, something about a relationship between two members of OCB being a risk to the safety of everyone who worked undercover.

"You've never cared about their safety before." I was distracted. It slipped out. Strohe doesn't bother me in the slightest. He's spent his whole career digging his own grave and one day he'll trip up and fall face first into it. If one of my people happened to help him on his way, I'd turn a blind eye and I think IAD would too. They'd be glad to be rid of him, the whole of Dade County would be glad to be rid of him. I can't help something wondering if he knows that. I missed his response but I didn't care. I was bored of him, and although the tape had piqued my interest for professional and personal reasons there was no way I was going to let him know that. "Go away, Strohe."

"I'm not going to let this matter drop, Lieutenant. When Crockett and Tubbs are back from their little trip…."

"You won't interview my detectives without my permission. If either of them mention to me that you've tried to speak to them, I'll have you suspended for harassment. Now get out of my office."

I got to my feet as he leaned down to eject the tape, leaning on the player, preventing the lid from opening, the tape from ejecting.

"That tape is evidence in an ongoing investigation."

"Orlando Homicide's investigation. Not yours. I'll make sure they get it back."

It was probably a copy, but I wasn't about to let him take it with him. He hesitated, but left it and turned on his toes. I followed him to the door, reached around him to open it. "Sweitek, show Detective Strohe out."

Stan grinned. "It would be my pleasure, Lieutenant."

I closed the door, went back to my desk, removed the tape and locked it in my desk drawer. If Orlando asked for it back, I'd send it up. It was no one's business really. I meant what I'd told Strohe; undercover cops did what they had to do to survive, to make it out of the lion's den alive, as Ricardo would have put it. But that they'd kissed and that it had been convincing enough to get some gay guy raving about it on tape, I couldn't help thinking about it, about them, about how it must have looked. I didn't have any illusions that it wouldn't be 'hot'. They're both good-looking, passionate men, consummate undercover detectives, unhindered by any false macho bullshit when it comes to their partnership, comfortable enough with each other to touch on a regular basis, under regular circumstances. Undercover as a gay couple, their lives in the balance, I doubted they would have had any qualms about kissing each other.

What I also couldn't doubt was my rapidly growing fascinating about how they would look together.

#

Rico:

We both jumped when the motion detector alarm sounded; not loud, but enough to break to silence of the boat in the dark, silent night. I suspected a plane or a chopper would have woken us sooner, and once the initial moment had passed and Sonny had hurriedly pulled on a pair of jeans, he went up on deck to confirm the presence of alligators surrounding the boat. I was surprised Elvis hadn't sloped off to join them, but I guess he's too domesticated to find the idea of a mud bed and a midnight food hunt attractive.

I pulled on some pants and joined Sonny up there. There was a bright moon almost full, light almost translucent, playing in Sonny's mussed up hair. He turned to me, pointed into the oily black water below and told me in a low murmur about the alligators. I nodded, let him know I understood, and stared at the moonlight on his body and the moonbeams in his hair. Poetic. My words, his inspiration.

He smiled, glanced away and I tried to stop staring. But I'd been given permission to touch, to love, a man who was a fantasy for me, and I was finding it difficult to remember we were on assignment. We sat up on deck for a while, staring up at the stars, across the water, me and my partner of seven years, shoulders casually touching.

"Ever thought about retirement, Rico?"

The question surprised me. I couldn't recall him ever talking about that particular subject before. I had to think about it. "Nah, man. I figure… if I make it that far I'll be lucky and I can think about it then. Why?" I couldn't for a second think that he was even considering it.

He was silent for a while. "For a long time I never figured making it; too many risks, too many dangers. Maybe I'd catch a bullet, crash a car, get made and end up floatin' down the river with my throat slit." I didn't like any of those prospects at all, liked what he said next even less - "Didn't think anyone would really care, you know?"

"Sonny…."

He shook his head, waved one hand through the air. "This isn't one of those vice cop blues speeches, Rico. Caroline had thrown me out. A few tears from Gina, no broken heart. Didn't think anything different when you turned up. Then Zito was killed and I spent long nights talkin' to Stan about the meanin' of life and death, the meanin' of partners…. I knew back then how much you meant to me, how if anythin' happened to me you wouldn't stop until whoever'd done it was behind bars or six feet under."

"You know it, Partner."

He reached over, hooked his hand over the side of my knee, and I was taken right back to that night at the gas station - Evan and Orgell. "I'd do the same for you, Rico."

"I know, Sonny."

He nudged me. "Yeah. I know you do. Just like I know you'd do everything in your power to stop the worst from happenin', to keep me alive. You're the reason I'm still here - savin' my life that night at the subway station, bringin' me back after Lauderdale…."

"Hey." Can't have those memories being brought up. They're the worst ones. Turning to him, I waited until he shifted away to looked at me. "Ancient history, man. Ancient history."

 

Sonny:

Rico does a lot of things for reasons best known to himself. After Lauderdale, he forgave me. I'll never know why. I'll never understand it and all he said when I asked him all he said was, 'you're my partner'. His own motives. I've rarely felt the need to question him - I trust him, implicitly, with my life. Always have done, ever since he turned up to that fateful and fated drugs bust and nicked my speedboat.

Looking back, this - us - could have happened anytime; a couple more inches, a few more words. We've never been afraid to be physical and this is just that taken to another level. After all, like I told Joey that afternoon in the Keys after the bad guys had shot up my boat - your partner's the one only you can rely on, the only one you can trust - that's all there is. Over the years I've told Rico everything; about the guys I circle jerked with when I played football, the gym teacher who blew me when I was twelve, the young woman I killed in 'Nam with fear shakin' my hands and sweat blurring my vision I thought the handle of her broom was a weapon and blew her brains all over her little boy standing behind her.

Joey told me recently that cops he knew saw Rico and I as role models, as the way partners should be. Thinkin' about what we'd been doin' the last few nights they'd probably want to rethink that! But Rico and I… we've always been closer than most partners I've known. But I got what Joey was saying. Rico and I worked - we clicked - from day one. No one's ever taken care of me like Rico does, no one's ever watched my back so intently. Two months after we met the head of Miami's largest gambling empire tried to set me up; first as a bent cop, then as a murderer. Bastard. Rico didn't believe a word of it, was with me every step of the way, speaking up for me - however needlessly - in front of the new Lieutenant, at my side for whatever I needed.

If I'd needed this - needed him - would he have gone for it? Probably. Even back then he was devoted to me, and I'm not saying that just for some cheap ego cruise. I'd have done anything for him too; lied or died for him.

Like I said, this could have happened between us years ago, given the right circumstance. Or maybe we weren't aware enough of each other then - I know we weren't aware of this chemistry, this heat and passion; the fire we stoked in Orlando. We knew only of being safe with one another, in sync with one another, like we looked at each other and saw home.

Tipping my head back I looked up at the velvet black sky, silver tears in the fabric, and felt Rico lean closer, felt his warm lips touch my bare shoulder. 

"It's always been us, Sonny."

I let a private smile touch my lips, a smile he wouldn't be able to see in the dark. "You're saying… you and me, this, was inevitable?"

Maybe I missed his smile in the dark. "Let me take you back to bed. The alarms will wake us if the 'gators don't." Difficult to refuse an offer like that. 

#

Rico:

The sun was shining in through the narrow, high cabin windows when I woke, alone again. That was definitely something I had to stop from becoming habit, Ricardo Tubbs does not like waking alone. No time like the present.

He was up on deck - where else would he be? - sittin' with his alligator, lookin' out over the quiet water where there was no action happening whatsoever. He didn't look up; I was quiet, padding through the boat and up the steps but he knew I was there. He didn't stay alive this long not knowing when someone was movin' around in his vicinity and he knows every sound, every creak, every squeak on the boat - he hears thing no one else does. And he wasn't just assuming it was me. He knows how I sound when I walk about, he knew it was me.

"Anythin' happenin'?"

Shaking his head, "Nothin'. Nada."

Good. It meant we could focus on the important stuff. "Sonny, Partner, we need to get something straight here." He looked up then, and I saw the smile turn to something else, saw the heat in his eyes as I stood there stark naked with a hard-on that could poke holes in wood. "I'm a mornin' person."

His expression changed again to one of bemusement, affection and no little humour. The heat remained in those ocean green eyes. "I can see that."

"If I don't come once, twice in a mornin', I'm useless for the rest of the day."

I don't think he knew which part of that confession to react to. "Twice?"

"Absolutely, man!"

"Every mornin'?"

"Not twice every mornin', but some."

"But you're saying… every mornin' before you come over to the boat or come into work, you… come?"

"Yeah. Don't you?"

He stared at me, then he beckoned me over and I went - swaggered - over to where he was sitting. "I'm thinking of all those times you turned up with coffee and doughnuts after havin' a wank."

I couldn't help the smile. "What exactly are you thinking?"

I got close and he reached out, palmed my cock, wrapped those deep tanned fingers around me, white fingernails in sharp contrast to us both. There's somethin' about that - about the way his fingernails look so white against his tan - that drives me wild. It's always attracted me, fascinated me, and once I was given permission to let it arouse me it was like a fetish. I couldn't take my eyes from his hand on me, moving slowly.

"How often did you jerk off thinkin' of me, Partner?" I could feel my knees going weak, my head lightenin'. "How often did you bring me coffee on the boat after fantasising about me half an hour before?" His hand was magic - the right speed, the right pressure, so fucking good. "Talkin' to me with my name barely off your lips?" I couldn't remember the question. "You still gonna be doin' that when we get back to the real world, Rico?" I could feel my balls tightening, my legs threatening to drop me to the deck. "Or will you come by earlier, let me bring you off? That way, you won't be needin' fantasies, Partner," I felt it build faster than if it was my hand I was sliding through, "you'll have the real thing." I jerked once and came, covering his hand, splashing the deck. He kept up the movement, easin' the pressure slightly, riding out the waves of orgasm with me as I put my hand out to steady myself, stop myself from collapsing.

Finally he slowed down, leaning forward and touching a sweet little kiss to my stomach before letting go of me and grinnin' up.

"Sonny…."

"Isn't the real thing better than some lonely mornin' self-abuse?"

"Oh, yeah." I was not arguing with that. "Oh, man… I need a shower."

"You, me and the deck, Partner of mine. You come like a freight train, you know?"

I might have blushed, might have preened if I hadn't been standing starkers in broad daylight on Sonny's boat with come drying on my leg. Sonny turned, reached for the hose he kept around for Elvis… I moved faster than I ever had in my life but it wasn't fast enough. The cold water hit my ass and the backs of my thighs and I'm ashamed to say I yelped like a girl as I leapt for the hatch and hit the top step hard. Behind me, I could feel my beloved partner almost doubled over with laughter.

#

Sonny:

Nothin' was happenin'. I fished and grilled the catch for lunch. Rico and I sat talking, not about anything heavy, just swappin' opinions on the stuff that didn't matter, stuff we talked about all the time on long surveillance gigs.

Eventually I dipped below to check on the gear, grabbed a couple of cold bottles from the fridge and went back on deck to grouch. "Where's the party, Rico? Cos I feel like we're missin' something, if you know what I mean." Not that spending a couple of days alone with my partner on the boat in the middle of nowhere wasn't fast becoming my very favourite way of spending time, but my 'sixth sense' - what Rico would call my 'spider sense' - was tingling. Something wasn't right.

"I know what you mean, Partner. It's way too quiet."

"What did Castillo say this guy was called?" I tried to remember the conversation - the order - but as usual I'd been thinkin' with my dick that mornin', just like I know Rico had.

He looked to be thinkin' it over too. "He didn't say a name. Just that there was a deal goin' down."

"Not even a deal." I was tryin' hard now, because the feelin' that something was suspicious about all of it was crawlin' up my spine like Itsy Bitsy. "A drop. A link in a chain. So why put two senior vice detectives on it? Why…." I don't know what made the Lieutenant's words come back to me like a tape playin' in my head, but just then I could hear his voice like he was standin' right beside me. "Oh, you have to be kiddin' me…."

Rico looked up at me, frownin'. "What?"

"'A package that was bound for New York before a player in Miami made a better offer.'" I stared at Rico, watching the same realisation alight in his eyes. "He was talkin' about us."

His hand went to his mouth - that unconscious gesture he made when he thought I was insane but at the same time knew there was some ring of truth in what I'd said. "So… why?" Why? Excellent question. "Unless the Lieutenant wanted us out of the way."

Now that made perfect sense. Marty - Castillo - he's like that with us, protects us when he knows he can and thinks he should. When he knows whatever's comin' down is bullshit. "He could well have done."

"Again, the question comes down to why. And to what we do about it."

I gave that some serious thought for oh, say, ten seconds. "The Lieutenant wants us out of the way, so we stay out of the way. Forty-eight hours, he said. So we hang out here, keep vigil over this big pile of nothin', then tomorrow mornin' we sail back to the marina and find out just what we missed."

 

I made coffee and baked some croissants - whoever said male vice cops didn't know how to live well? When I got back up on deck, Rico was sittin' with my scaly pet. I loved how comfortable he'd become around Elvis - from being so jumpy he'd almost fall overboard whenever that huge monster of a tail moved or those massive jaws opened, he'd come a long way. "Here you go, Partner." I couldn't - didn't want to - disguise the affection in my voice. He took the mug and the plate with an impressed smile that said more than 'thank you'.

"I've been thinkin'." I knew that already, by the thoughtful expression which returned to his face as he set the coffee down and bit into the flaky pastry. It was a minute before he elaborated, one I waited out sat next to him lookin' out over the water and the reeds. "We'd only been out of Orlando for twelve hours. What kinda trouble could we have made for ourselves in that short space of time?"

I'd been wondering the exact same thing. "Well, ordinarily, Rico, I'd say we could create a whole world of trouble. But on this occasion we did little more than sleep."

"Little more?" I caught his raised eyebrow as he feigned being insulted. 

"Hey, you know that was without a doubt one of the greatest hand jobs I've ever had, Partner. And I hope the feelin's at least close to being mutual. But there ain't no way anyone but us knows about that. The boat isn't bugged." Too late for us by then if it was!

"You know that for sure?"

"Yeah, I do. Duddy lent me an 'always on' sweeping device."

Steve Duddy - ex-cop, covert surveillance expert and now one of the highest priced sweepers in Florida. We'd brought him in on a job years ago, which he'd turned to his own advantages and completely messed up for us. It obviously tickled Rico that I was still in contact with the guy.

"He givin' you a preferential rate, Partner?"

"Yeah, yeah." Hadn't I known he'd react like that? Wasn't it why I hadn't mentioned it before? "Duddy ain't all bad."

"Nah, Mon, he's just all wallet and no conscience."

"Not true." Don't ask me why I felt I needed to defend the little runt; just he was an old acquaintance and truth is there aren't too many of those left. "Okay, not entirely true." Maybe I have a certain respect for the man, deep down - I mean, he had the sense and foresight to get out of the line of fire while Rico and I are still dancing on it. "Doesn't change the fact that the boat isn't bugged. No one but us knows what goes on in this tub, Rico."

"So maybe it wasn't that we did anythin' here. Maybe it was what we did in Orlando."

That made perfect, poetic sense. "Yeah, they've been interviewing the guests at that party… maybe someone said somethin' about us being all over one another."

The penny dropped between us. "And who's the one person Castillo would risk his career to keep you away from."

"Strohe." I almost spat the name. "That rat bastard…."

"Just a theory, Sonny."

"A damn good one, Rico." But there was nothin' I could do to confirm it. Marty had got us out of the way for a reason; we owed it to him to play his side.

#

Rico:

It was a fine day, an even finer night. Lots of kissin' and touchin', wordless exploration of each other for hours as I intimately acquainted myself with that huge bed in the forward cabin, and he intimately acquainted himself with the previously uncharted territory of my perfectly taut ass. I think it was the forbidden element of touching me there, of putting his tongue in a place no man or woman had ever kissed me before. I'd imagined it would be the one part of me he wouldn't go near but never in my life had I been so wrong.

And I didn't just like it, I loved it. It felt amazing to have my partner's tongue lickin' what I'd always thought of as an exit and not an entrance to my body. It was so private, so intensely personal, that it felt like the most incredible thing anyone had ever done for me. I came the moment he touched my cock, his face still buried between my ass cheeks, the soft huff of his astounded laughter tickling hairs I hadn't even known where there.

I wanted to do the same for him, but like I told him honestly, it was gonna take some time before I could roll my tongue and do what he'd done to me. He was fine with it, said he'd been thinkin' about doin' it all day and I bit back the question of why he'd waited so damn long! I plucked up the courage to get a finger inside him, just the tip at first, that sensation of being somewhere so warm and so tight… I didn't think I'd get that far but my treacherous and apparently not-so-heterosexual brain presented me with an idea of how it would feel if my cock were being squeezed the way my fingertip was being and I knew immediately that it was a hang up I wanted to get over. So I made sure Sonny was okay with it and pressed further into him.

Whereas I'd been on my front, he was lyin' on his side with one foot flat on the bed and his knee bent, so I could see his face, kiss his mouth, watch the effect I was havin'. It was intoxicating, givin' him so much pleasure, knowin' I was the one responsible for the ecstatic, delighted expression. Bolstered by it, I went deeper, until the second knuckle of my index finger was up inside my partner's body. I wasn't going any further but he was thinking differently, and without warning he pushed back, impaled himself on me until the joint was against his perineum and I had no idea about what to do next. Some guys do this to themselves apparently, I never have.

Sonny leaned towards me and I felt him squeeze his ass for just a second, tightening his grip on my finger with a glint of mischief in his eyes. He bit my ear so very lightly, and murmured into it, "Experiment."

It was the hottest thing anyone had ever said to me. I withdrew just half an inch and thrust back in gently, bending my finger slightly until I stroked over his prostate. Even if I hadn't known, his deep moan might have given me a hint and the ribbons of cum escaping his jerking cock would definitely have given it away.

I didn't let up though, turned my finger inside him, one way then the other, bolder with each shudder of his body. At one point he said my name, and he made it sound like a sexual expletive. I asked him what else I could do, not caring that he'd already come, and he told me to add a second finger, which I did as he turned on to his front, seemingly not caring about the wet sticky patch beneath him. It was that good, I realised, and I knew I wanted him inside me again. And not just his tongue. He spread his legs, those tight thighs quivering as I watched myself wrap my middle finger over my index and gently breach him with them. I pushed in all the way, turning my hand, forcing more and more of those incredibly erotic noises from him. I started to thrust gently, fucking him with those two fingers, kissing his back as he told me over and over not to stop and I promised him I wouldn't. I knew what he was working up to, and after a few minutes and put my other hand under him and grasped his resurrected erection, working him inside and out until he came again with a rough howl of something purely animalistic.

I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up I was lying half on his back, him curled up under me, both of us sticky with sweat and sex. It was light outside, sometime after dawn not but too long after it. The cabin stank of us, and I lay there for a long time breathing in how we smelt after we'd been together like we had been, storing it away in my mental database of scents. I knew I should get up, take a leak, have a shower. But after my lecture about waking up alone this morning, I didn't want to leave him. So I ignored the pressure in my bladder and closed my eyes again, knowing I wouldn't drop back to sleep but for a while being content just to lie with my partner in my arms and commit every detail to memory.

#

We reached the marina mid-afternoon and moored up, jumping straight into Sonny's Ferrari and heading downtown for a face off with the Lieutenant. I'd imagined Sonny would be wired at the prospect of an internal investigation into our actions in Orlando, but the sex must really have been good (pat on the back for Ricardo Tubbs) because never had I seen him so relaxed, so… chilled out.

Castillo too, it seemed, was expecting the human equivalent of a nuclear bomb. He actually flinched when Sonny threw open his office door and I saw him tense for the inevitable tirade. But it never happened. Sonny strolled over to the boss' desk, put his palms flat on the immaculate, inscrutably tidy surface and simply said,

"A package bound for New York, Lieutenant? That would be my partner, I assume. And the player who made the better offer…."

"You." Castillo said it with a small smile, and Sonny nodded his head once.

"So now we've proved ourselves to be slow at word games and even slower on the uptake that we were being played by our own side, want to tell me why we've just spent two days watching over alligators at Plantation Key? Not that we don't appreciate the time off…."

"Strohe got hold of a taped interview with one of the guests at Daniel Fagan's party."

We'd been right. Strohe and Sonny are like two opposing forces, like reactive chemicals that should never be mixed for fear of an explosion that might wipe out everyone around them.

"So?"

Castillo never had a chance to answer. His office door was thrown open for the second time in less than two minutes, the plastic blind rattling hard against the glass pane, and Strohe stepped into the Lieutenant's office like some Machiavellian overlord. "I knew I would find you eventually."

Sonny turned his head slowly and I could feel Castillo's quickly building anger from where I was leaning against the filing cabinets. "Congratulations, Strohe, you've surpassed yourself. You should be a detective. We do work here. It wasn't exactly a long-shot was it?"

"Correction. You did work here."

"Now, wait a minute. Before you start rooting around in our pockets for our badges, I think you need to lay your cards on the table. Fair and square. You tell us what we've done to cross the line this time, and we'll shoot you down like a lame duck."

I cast a glance at the Lieutenant. He was silent, like if he opened his mouth, it might cost him his own badge.

#

"And they kissed, at the party." On the tape, Strohe sounded like a dirty old man getting all the juicy details from some overexcited porn dealer.

"Oh, yeah. Hottest thing I've ever seen by far and away. We're hoping the white guy will do the centrefold. At least then we get one of them naked, if you get my drift."

I was perversely proud of us. I didn't dare look at my partner. I still had no real idea of how he felt about what we'd done in Orlando - not the night we spent together, I knew how he felt about that and it was great, better than great. But about the rest of it, the public displays of physical attraction. Not that he'd initiated the majority of it, sitting on my knee in the nightclub, cuddlin' up to me on the sofa at Fagan's place. Couldn't see him being too pleased at being the star attraction of the party though, and I wasn't too pleased at the idea of other men jerking off to the thought of my partner - my lover (just how amazin' did that sound?) - naked and aroused. 

Speaking of aroused….

Strohe had stopped the tape and Sonny was lookin' at him like he'd lost his mind.

"That's it?"

"It's enough, Crockett."

"Get outta here! You got squat, Pal!"

I watched Strohe slowly stand up, watched him put his hands on the table and lean in close to Sonny. Nothing better than the slime of IAD making moves on your partner to limpen the hardest of hard-ons. In the past this guy's had Sonny in tears. No one - *no one* - does that to him without repercussions. I despise him for every time he's tried to pin some departmental leak or busted operation on us. I hate him - truly hate him - for the things he's said to Sonny.

"You're fucking your partner, Crockett."

I thought he'd freak, I thought this would be the explosion Castillo had been primed and ready for. The last thing I was expecting was the very thing he did. 

He laughed. "Get real, Strohe. I mean, you're usually way off the mark but this time, you're in another country."

For the moment this uncharacteristic response didn't put the IAD asshole off.

"Come on, Sonny, admit it. You like it, like him taking you," Strohe leaned closer so he was whispering into Sonny's ear, and at first I only thought I heard him say, "you like his big cock inside you." I sat back, tensing for what must surely follow. 

But instead, Sonny turned his face so they were half an inch apart. "At least if he was, it wouldn't leave any space for you to keep crawling up there, now would it?" I tried to choke back the laughter but I couldn't, so I threw my head back and enjoyed it. It felt good. Strohe had taken a couple of steps back and Sonny wasn't finished. "You're out of your mind. No one is going to believe that we two," he pointed at me before turning it back on himself, "we lady killers, womanisers, experts at seduction and veterans of the one-night stands are hittin' the sack together! We could bring in character witnesses - cops - who would swear to how heterosexual we are, how we're hot-bloodied males who take a fancy to every gorgeous lady who comes along. You had me up on charges once before, for dating a Madame, remember? You can't have it both ways, Strohe."

"Maybe you like it both ways, Crockett." But it was lame, and we all knew it.

"This is a joke. You've got nothin'. You're pissin' in the wind and if you're not careful it'll end up all over your nice expensive shoes."

I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from falling apart all over again. I'd only just pulled myself together after the ass crack. No pun intended.

"You're accusing the witness is lying?"

"Listen to me, Strohe. That guy you've got on tape, he's obviously very easily impressed. My partner and I, as I'm sure our Lieutenant has made you keenly aware, were on an officially assigned undercover operation, posing as a gay couple. In order to stay alive, we put on a show." He leaned forward, alligator grin on his face. "Want me to demonstrate?"

#

Half-empty beer bottle swinging from my fingers, I sat back and closed my eyes. The prevailing aroma from the sizzling grill was smoked woodchips and I knew dinner would be well worth the wait. The sounds of my partner movin' around the boat was all the reassurance I needed that I was experiencing a small slice of heaven and although I knew it wouldn't last I determined to enjoy it while it did.

"You okay for beer, Rico?" he called up from what sounded like the galley.

"Uh-huh." My partner, the gracious host. Keeps his guests fed and watered, and when it's time to hit the sack he shares his bed with the lucky ones. I.e. me. No one else gets that little extra from this man. Not that it's a little extra at all; and I'm not speaking metaphorically. It's a lot, way more than I deserve. Sonny deserves to be happy, but he seems to want me around and I'm not about to walk away from him. I don't think I could; don't have the self-flagellation streak inside me. Givin' him up isn't something I'd be capable of now.

Strohe vanished back into the woodwork. We haven't seen the last of him but then it's people like him that make life exciting. No one's said anything else about it, and we're careful not to make any overtly intimate gestures in public. Castillo said something though, after our interview with Strohe was over and Sonny and I faced him off in his office. Sonny asked him straight out why he'd felt the need to try to keep us out of the way of the IAD investigation, and after a few second's silence, and without looking up at us, the Lieutenant had confessed,

"Because I thought it was true."

Astute man. One day we'll tell him he was right. Only, I don't think he needs tellin'.


End file.
